A Beautiful Mess
by Kara -Malfoy- Allred
Summary: <html><head></head>John moves out of 221B, leaving Sherlock to meet the new tenant of the flat downstairs, Hermione Granger. These two brilliant minds will form one beautiful mess.</html>


"John!" Sherlock shouted up the staircase to his trusty flat mate. "Come along, I got us a case."

He appeared at the top of the steps and Sherlock almost didn't glance up. Almost. His eyes narrowed and he became tense. Finally, Holmes sighed and sat down on the bottom step, laying his head in his hands. "Already?"

Watson walked down the stairs and sat down on the step above him. "Yeah." He replied shortly. Sherlock closed his eyes tight before he turned his body to glance at the suitcase at the top of the stairs. "You'll visit won't you?"

John chuckled, as if the question itself was preposterous. "Of course!" He stood up and clapped Sherlock on the shoulder, "You're my _best man._" John laughed again as he walked upstairs, memories filling his mind. The blogger began to walk out of his house, his old house, 221B, but before he left he turned to say one more thing to the detective, simply as an afterthought. "By the way, a new girl, Hermione Granger, I believe, is moving in 221C."

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Mrs. Hudson began to bustle around the flat, telling Sherlock off ("You simply _must_ get these eyeballs out of the microwave, it's unattractive."), cleaning ("I'll tidy up this once, but remember love , I'm your landlady, not your house keeper."), and absolutely _gloating_ about having the _amazing_ Hermione Granger living in _her _rental flat, no one else's. Mrs. Hudson was ecstatic about having her stay in 221C.

"She is such a sweetie, Sherlock." She bragged as she dusted the ceiling fan blades. "Maybe she will take your mind of Mr. Watson." The little old lady began to climb carefully down the stepstool she had been using, and once on flat ground, she put a hand on Sherlock's cheek. "I'm sorry about that dear; I know you'll miss him."

Seconds later there was a knock at the door. Mrs. Hudson just about ran down the stairs, exclaiming, "That's her!"

Soon, a short, bushy- haired girl was standing in the doorway. "Hi." She said in a confident voice. "I'm Hermione." She walked forward and offered him her hand. When he didn't take it, she simply raised an eyebrow.

He could not read a single thing about her. There were no ink smudges, ring indentions, rings, dog hair, not even the slightest hint of any emotion was given through her eyes. That is, except for confidence.

It took him only seconds to figure it out. She was like him.

"Confusion, Mr. Holmes?" She smirked. "Looks like an emotion you're not used to." She then turned and walked out of the room.

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Hermione sighed as she leaned against the door of her new flat. Her back slid down the wall very slowly, then, as if making a final decision, her body made contact with the floor with a very satisfying thud. She rolled her shoulders, hoping to release some of the stress that had made its base there. Finally, with a great bit of moral effort, she stood up, and grabbed her wand from her inner jacket pocket. She walked slowly around her new home, making wards and sound proofs, heat charms and then, just to add her own touch, Gryffindor red wallpaper.

As she lay down in bed that night, Hermione closed her eyes, and though she knew she was comfy, and she knew this was home, a little part of her wondered if a person like her could ever really be _home_.

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Many days later, Hermione had managed to evade Sherlock, in a way only some could. Meaning she cheated with magic. One day though, as Hermione opened the door to leave the flat, she was surprised by two hands reaching out to grab her wrists quickly and pull her back inside her house.

Sherlock locked the door behind him and she chuckled. _As if I couldn't get out of here._ She looked at the man closely. _I could knock you flat, and I could make sure you never even remember it happening, and then I could run along, leave you to wake up in your bedroom, dazed and confused. _But instead, Hermione smirked. Curiosity would be her undoing. "Yes, Mr. Holmes? Is there a reason for your," she made quotations with her fingers. "'trapping me' in my own house?"

He narrowed his eyes at her, and no matter how hard he tried he still couldn't deduce a single thing about the mysterious woman. "I dislike you." He said in a decisive tone.

His icy blue eyes met her warm, chocolate brown ones. And though he had hoped to see some sort of sad look, or immediate aggression, he saw mirth.

And then, she laughed. Not a chuckle, nor a fake laugh, a real genuine laugh, and her mirth was directed at him.

She now stood from her position on her plush couch, walking past him and toward the kitchen "You stay here and I'll put on the kettle, because you are simply hilarious."

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Once she came back to the room, two teacups in her petite hands, she was not disappointed. There sat the man, looking stoic. She handed him a teacup and sat down across from him, pulling her legs onto the couch, Indian-style, and looked up at him once more.

After taking a long sip from her own teacup, she looked up at him. "Mr. Holmes. For my whole life, I have dealt with people hating me." She took another sip from her steaming mug. "What makes you think I care if there's one more person in the world who '_dislikes' me."_

"How do you get out of the house without me noticing?" He responded, neglecting the teacup he had sat on the coffee table in front of him.

She raised an eyebrow. "Maybe you're losing your touch." She offered with in innocent look.

"Impossible."

"To you, maybe.""So how do you do it?" He asked once more

"Magic." She said simply.

He chuckled under his breath, "I'm sure.".

"Anymore questions?" Hermione said, finishing off her tea and picking up his untouched one, which he obviously wasn't drinking.

"Why can't I deduce you?" He finally muttered angrily, and to his great displeasure, Hermione laughed again.

"Because I don't want you to."

Narrowing his eyes, he seemed to come to a decision. "You're coming with me to the morgue."

She stared at him for a long while, and then with a clink she put his mug back on the coffee table. "Let me get my jacket."

He stood up, straightening his scarf, looking around the room. As she walked back through the doorway with a coat on, a particular book on the bookshelf caught his eye. _What is 'quidditch'?_

**A/N:** **Hey guys. This is one of my first fics, so please bare with me as I am still learning a lot. I would really appreciate if you would review (Please, please, please constructive criticism because this is going to- hopefully- be a really great learning experience.), and I'll get the next chapter up ASAP! You all can have a virtual cookie for reading this whole thing! :3**


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